From him I learned that it’s important to stand up and take action for what you believe in. I also learned to be inquisitive about the world around us, including plants and rocks and trees. 

My dad was highly decorated for valor and bravery for his actions in the Navy in WWII.  But he never talked about that.  He talked about the tropical beauty of Bougainville and how to survive if you were lost on an island (follow streams downhill to the ocean). 

My dad loved flying more than most things in the world. Maui was his favorite Hawaiian Island.  From him I learned to appreciate classical music, big band and Dixieland jazz. 

He modeled persistence.   He didn’t give up, and would find clever ways to fix things.  He could have outdone MacGyver.

Thanks Dad, and Happy Birthday.

Our church has birthed a new ministry, which I have had the honor to help with as our church moderator.  It’s designed for younger un-churched folks in our community.

In August, I held an art show and music concert as a fund-raiser to raise money for

Flaming Heart

the MS Society.  We had fantastic music and brilliant art, and a good chunk of money was raised.  MANY of you also supported me this year as we raised over $3000 for the MS Walk.  I will do it again in April. I have also continued to assist with advocacy efforts for the MS Society.

This year, I “re-conditioned” my consulting firm from several years ago, now called Vision Consulting LA.  I did a small project with former colleagues from the SJHS Advocacy Department, and it was great to reconnect with them. I have also set up social media projects for several small businesses.

Cousins Dick and Larry

I have had many wonderful travels and small adventures, (starting December of last year), seeing good friends and family in Palm Coast, Florida; San Diego; Immaculate Heart Center, CA; White Pines, CA; Clearwater, FL (with cousins Dick, Gloria, Larry and Jennilyn McNeill, where I celebrated my birthday); Joshua Tree; Palm Springs; Russian River, California; Atlanta (for a great church renewal conference) and ending up this year’s travels with a wonderful trip to see Michelle and Vero in their home in Vancouver, B.C.  Thanks to those of you who made these trips possible:  these experiences were a balm for my soul. 

I also attended my Aunt Viola McNeill’s funeral in Dodgeville, WI.  It was a vivid celebration of her wonderful and giving life.  We saw ALL of the McNeill cousins, including children. 

Charlie takes a close look at a recent painting

On the creative side, I’ve taken up rock drumming (and as most of you know, that’s a big stretch for me!) But it’s been lots of fun and I have especially enjoyed “jamming” with my musical friends.  I have also reconnected with my artistic side, and am enjoying water colors and other media.  Lots of paintings on the dining room table now!

I have enjoyed not rushing around this Christmas season.  As I’ve told friends, I’m only celebrating Christmas in church.  And what a peaceful place that has been this season:  a blessed children’s pageant, beautiful music, and meditations to guide us to the true meaning of Christmas.  May yours be equally so, and have a happy and fun New Year!

August 16 1948- November 4 2009

Sherry was a lover of music. Particular music.  Music that said something.  That tapped the tap-root of life. She loved art and the artists who created it.  Particular art.  Art that said something.  Art that was whimsical and fun. 

She loved dogs.  Especially Rosie. She loved her many friends.  She loved her chosen family:  the Farringtons, and Verne, Barb, Anne, and Shirley. 

She loved her store, Wild Blue.  She loved welcoming people to the gallery and helping them make their home or their body more interesting.  The famous and the not famous.  The tourist and the soon-to-be famous.   

She loved driving.  She loved convertibles.  She loved her drive across country to find the hospital her grandmother founded in Arkansas.  She loved all the beautiful places she stopped on the way going and coming.  She loved the colorful and wind-swept creations of the Southwest, especially Delicate Arch.

She loved Cambria. The fabulous glass shop. The elephant seals.  The boardwalk next to the ocean.

She loved those that came to help her and heal her.  Dr. Constantz, Gail, Anne, Elise, and the MS Achievement Center.  Song and Roger.  She loved Sergia and her family. 

She loved our home and the garden I created. Especially the hummingbirds.

Sherry loved being a Leo. She loved her hair.  She loved being stylish and creating style for others.

Sherry loved us. We loved Sherry. 

Please join us at my home on Saturday, August 28 at 7pm for a House Concert and Art Show. Proceeds from art sales and the $5 admission will benefit the MS Society.  Contact me for more details and to RSVP.

I thought maybe one of you had heard her say it that way, too.  Although how many of us had occasion to discuss swiss chard with her?? 

And when I cooked it, she actually liked it.   She liked pretty much anything I cooked for her.

I may have mentioned this before, but when we left Altadena we were especially glad to leave the noisy crows that circled the huge old trees that surrounded our neighborhood.

When Sherry moved into that house, (a small, older back house for a large home built around 1910) she was told by the previous renters that there were other “tenants”.  Sherry was glad she was forewarned, because these tenants, a family of raccoons, would make a loud racket at night as they entered an opening in the attached garage and venture into the attic over the house.  When I first heard them, it sounded like a football team practicing overhead. 

One evening, shortly after we had settled on our new home on Argus, we drove away, and in the large drain at the end of our street, two faces were peeking out at us:  the raccoons welcomed us and we knew we were home.

Over the years, we have been entertained by a large variety of wildlife, even though we are in “the city”.  Squirrels are the most common, but skunks are the most noticeable, and Stoli has been skunked often enough that I now keep a half gallon of vinegar by the back door.  On the smaller side we have salamanders and lizards.  Charlie brought me a rat once or twice.  Opossums are spotted, too.  And one time when I had left Charlie out while I traveled, a neighbor mentioned seeing a coyote in the neighborhood. But our favorites have been the raccoons.

Besides four-footed wildlife, we have lots of birds. Sherry’s favorites were the hummingbirds that came to our yard.  Sparrows and wrens of course, and blue jays and mockingbirds are all common.  But it’s fun to hear the woodpecker in the tree next door.  One morning, a hawk swooshed down from the neighbor’s tree after it had dived down for its meal. We heard an owl more than once.  And in that same neighbor’s tree, we had a royal battle between the notorious but beautiful emerald-painted parrots and equally noisy obsidian-colored crows.  We of course rooted for the parrots.

Before we bought our house, we visualized several elements that we wanted in our home.  One of the last of things I added was that doves would be here.  So when we moved in, one of the first things I noticed was that each evening at dusk about five to six doves would come and bath and drink from the fountain that was here in our front yard. 

The Garden

Much of my adult life I have gardened.  And the majority of that time has included cultivating vegetables and herbs.  But when we moved to Argus, for some reason I turned to the planting of flowers.  Perhaps I had become tired of the mixed efforts that came from my garden in Claremont.  Maybe I had less time.  But I think I wanted the salve that flowers were becoming for me. Wildflowers, annuals, perennials, drought tolerant plants that flowered, plumeria and white ginger from my parent’s house, housewarming plants like lilies, and monkey flowers, and mums.  Plants that attracted butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds. I didn’t start with a blank canvas.  Because our house is old, we have huge camellia bushes of reds, pinks and white. The pink azaleas greet us when it’s still cold. There were several roses that I nursed back to vibrancy.  Our lot is anchored by an old California oak in back, and a carrotwood tree in back.

Over the years I added cannas that I bought at the Sisters’ boutique, a vibrant orange orchid our back neighbor gave me, and watched nasturtiums grow via a mystery.  I snipped varieties of geraniums from my walks through the neighborhood that then grew in pots and eventually in the yard. I replanted a red penstemon that came from a clipping from Claremont, that survived our time in Altadena.  And dozens of succulents and cactus that were mostly gifts from friends and family were planted in my “desert” section in the lower quarter or were part of the backdrop on the patio. 

I planted much of our backyard so that it would visible for Sherry from either the deck/ramp we had added, or the patio.  Our yard has 3 levels:  the patio, the grass and plants that surround the patio on two sides, and the small strip at the lowest elevation with an area for water to drain when it rains.  Sherry also wanted a concrete ramp so she could get through the garage down to the lower level.  Half of my joy in gardening was to show her the latest flower or fruit or butterfly.

About two years ago, as the impact of globalization began to wreck our economy, I decided that we should be more self-sufficient when it came to food.  In Claremont, with a 10,000 square foot lot, the previous owners had done an extraordinary amount of work by removing hundreds of boulders and rocks and tilled and fenced about a 20×20 foot area with sufficient sunlight.  So to plant vegetables, all I had to do was to add compost and stick in the plants.

Here, it’s more difficult.  Because of the aforementioned flowering bushes and plants and trees, I have much less space that receives sufficient sunlight.  But that year I got the urge, I happened upon the “lasagna” method of building a garden.  The key is to stack layers of hay and alfalfa on top of the area you wish to plant, dig in a little planting soil and compost, and stick your plants in that way.  Great idea- but I happened on this method in late May, so the garden didn’t really get started until almost June. 

Not much happened that year, obviously.  But last year, I had several tomato plants survive the winter, and I started early.  Conditions were right that we seemingly had bushels of tomatoes, and an endless supply of basil that I could share with co-workers.  I was once again my own source of some food security.  (This despite the fact Stoli ate easily a third of the tomatoes!)

About the same time as the vegetable gardening started, I decided we needed fruit trees. Again, comparing to Claremont, there was a large old plum tree that produced so much fruit I would spend hours  chucking the over ripe fruit into the compost pile.  The prior owners had also left me with small peach and apricot trees, a grape vine, kumquat tree, pineapple guava bush, two varieties of lemon, and a wonderful navel orange tree.

I gave Mariano, our wonderful gardener, the list of trees that I wanted.  I had a small amount of space and it would be dicey, but I was determined to get these trees planted sooner than later.  The economy was in the tank and heaven knows we would need to live off of our trees!  Two weeks later, the trees arrived and were planted.  But instead of the pineapple guava bush, we got a guava tree, the kind they make guava juice out of in places like Hawaii and Mexico.  Turns out, this was Sergia’s favorite tree in her homeland.  And instead of a lime, we got a Mexican “sweet lime” that’s wonderful but not exactly what I had in mind.  The Washington Navel is a great tree, but is likely too large for the spot I had intended a semi-dwarf orange.  The tree we did get right was at Sherry’s request, a tangerine. 

Home

When Sherry could spend time outside by herself on the back deck, she became proficient at recognizing the several hummingbirds that were nurtured by our flowers. The red ones and the Rufus- the brown one.  She missed being able to do some of the gardening.  She would pull off dead leaves from the patio plants, and when she couldn’t reach them, instruct me to cut them at the lengths she preferred.  Now I sort of felt that this was my world, her art was in the house and my art was outside.  We debated constantly the appropriate length of the wisteria as the vines would twist out to the patio umbrella and nearby trellis.  But we mostly compromised—meaning I cut the wisteria vines to the length she wanted.  The reality was that I wanted the wisteria to be as shady as possible so she could sit next to the old barbeque that had become the home to the shade plants, and the Buddha sculpture that I had placed there for her.

Our favorite time was after dinner, in the late spring and early summer, when it was not too hot and not too cold.  Sherry would sit on the deck so that she could see the view.  The hummers would buzz in and out, and she would identify them as if they were old friends that showed up to chat.  As the sun began to set, the stars would begin to come out, and she would lean her wheelchair back.  She knew some of the stars of course, thanks to trips to the desert with expert star-gazer.

One evening, as we sat outside and enjoyed our time together and the light gave way to darkness, I heard a squeaking sound coming from the old oak.  I knew the sound, and I also knew that from reading the environment below the tree what might be showing up.  And so I encouraged Sherry to come and see, and on that night, we both got to peek up into the tree and see the family of raccoons peering down at us.  I was so glad that she could see them.

This afternoon, as the crows squawked, I shooed one away from the tree. I thought of how we would protest as they pushed to move into our turf. 

I hear the doves outside.  I wish I knew were all the hummers had gone.  I still need to get the rest of the vegetables planted.  I’m undecided on how short to cut the wisteria back this year.

As Sherry always said, MS is a crappy disease.  MS stands for multiple sclerosis.  It is a chronic, often disabling disease that attacks the central nervous system. Symptoms may be mild, such as numbness in the limbs, or severe, such as paralysis or loss of vision. “The progress, severity, and specific symptoms of MS are unpredictable and vary from one person to another.”

The National MS Society goes on to note, “Today, new treatments and advances in research are giving new hope to people affected by the disease.”

Living with MS takes a lot of strength.  You never know when new symptoms will emerge, or side effects from one of the common injectible drugs will knock you for a loop.  Fortunately, people diagnosed more recently are benefitting from drugs that weren’t available even five years to ten years ago.  Research has now found that exercise is good for people with MS.

Several years ago, Sherry participated in a t-cell trial at USC, where MS researchers were hoping to use the patient’s own t-cells to create a vaccine specific to them.  This was not an easy process, but Sherry was willing to be one of the “guinea pigs” in the trial, if not for her, but for others’ benefit later on.  Unfortunately, the trial was not a success, and had to be stopped short, but Sherry’s willingness to participate showed strength that I (and many others) admired.

Today we raised close to $2800 for the MS Walk.  These much needed funds will make a true difference for individuals and their families and loved ones living each day with MS.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”.  This is how Sherry spoke of her wishes. Years back, she talked about wanting her ashes scattered under the Delicate Arch in Arches National Park in Utah.  More recently, she talked about having them scattered in Cambria, one of her favorite places, and where we vacationed three times.  Finally, she said, it didn’t matter so much to her, just “not in the water”! The spot I finally chose had multiple connections for us.  It’s beautiful, and it is at the beginning of a story that had much meaning for us a year ago at Christmastime. 

Saturday was Holy Saturday in the Christian calendar.  We experienced Jesus’ death on Good Friday; we commemorated Jesus burial in the Tomb.  But now we are in Easter, when all is made new. Saturday was also when Michelle and Vero celebrated Passover with their family.  As you all know, Sherry was not much into liturgical calendars. She cared deeply about others, and for all of creation.  And she was sure at the end that heaven awaited her. 

In planning for Saturday, I remembered the small box that I had found last November.  Sherry had shared it with me before, and we put some of the contents up on one of the small kitchen shelves.  The box said “fragile” and held her vase collection.  It included some miniature vases, tiny cups and saucers, ceramic baby booty, and other small ceramic objects.  The collection was from her childhood and youth, and was something she cherished.

I brought the box with me, and as it came time to close our sharing, I pulled out the expertly wrapped tiny objects, and begin handing them out around our circle.  Halfway through I panicked, as I suddenly thought there weren’t enough for all.  But I put my hand in again, and there were more than enough.  Each gift seemed somewhat appropriate to the receiver.

I also received a cherished gift this spring.  In a wonderfully connected moment, Sr. Martha Ann gave me the sculpture of St. Joseph walking, called “St. Joseph on the Journey.” One of the other Sisters, Sr. Madeleva, shared with me that St. Joseph is the saint of travelers.  I have learned so much from the Communities of St. Joseph, both of Orange, and Carondolet, and they have been with me at significant points in my life.  I am grateful to them, as they continue to be with me on my journey.  I also have developed deep friendships with others who were “co-ministers” with the Sisters.  In my upcoming travels, I plan to see some of these dear friends.

Each day, it seems another door of opportunity for “travel” emerges.  I will share more about these opportunities in the coming weeks.

Sherry’s life with us continues as we remember her.   May we be as compassionate, fun, quirky, sensitive and thoughtful as she was.  May we be as loving a friend, a partner, or spouse. May we be as good a person as she wanted to be, and was.  We are surely recipients of God’s grace each day we have to be in relationship with one another.

The second was the life alert pendant that hung around Sherry’s neck.  I had put off sending the machine and neck pendant back, but decided it was time.  But again, I wanted to keep that pendant.  Sherry wore it more hours than her ring or watch, and ironically never needed it.  The folks at Life Alert were always so nice and friendly when we called to check the operation of the machine each month.

The third item was Sherry’s “bed raiser”, the attachment to her hospital bed that allowed her to raise and lower it.  My friends Bettie and Sandy were getting rid of their chocolate brown sofa, and offered it to me for Sherry’s room.  Sunday was the day we had scheduled to have Miguel (Sergia’s husband) move the couch to our house, but I told Bettie that I didn’t know when I would be able to move Sherry’s bed out of her room.  So I planned to put it in the garage “for a while”. 

I had slept somewhat off and on all night, due to a cramp in my leg.  About 5:45 a.m. I was awakened by Sherry, calling my name, the way she often would in the night if she needed something.  But it was not a pained or worried call, just a calling of my name.  I was happy to hear her. 

I was to meet Sergia and Miguel at their church at 3 p.m., and call on the cell phone when I got there as they would probably still be in the church.  But as I drove up, I was happy to see the entire family outside with other church members, enjoying a meal and fellowship.  And an even bigger surprise was that Sergio was with them.  He is her younger son, and had been out of the area.  He had done the wonderful work on our basement, and helped me transform it into a comfortable studio/office.  Sergia was in her beautiful mint-colored suit, and introduced me to many of the church members. 

As we got ready to leave the church, I told the three men (they were naturally all going to help—they wouldn’t do any less) that we would move the couch into the garage.  I was not ready to move that bed.

We went to my friends’ house, and the men carefully loaded the couch.  As we drove down the hill, I had a strong sensation come through me.  I suddenly sensed that now WAS the time to move Sherry’s bed to the garage, so that the Convalescent Aid Society could take it back for someone else to use.  We would put the couch in Sherry’s room. 

In our driveway, I explained in my broken Spanish and some English my change in heart and thus the change of plans.  I told them that it seemed now was the right time, because it would be the three of them helping me, each in their own way so dear to Sherry (and each affected by her passing).  Their expressions told me that they understood, and I knew it was the right thing to do.   

They took apart the bed, and we put it in the garage.  They were impressed with the work I had done to clean most of the garage!  They then carefully put the sofa into the room.  They sat on it and smiled. 

I went back later into the garage and looked at the bed.  Then I saw the “bed raiser” on the ground.  How many hundreds, thousands of times had she used that?  And how many more thousand times had Sergia or I raised it or lowered it for her, helping her to be comfortable? 

While I did not want to part with these seemingly mundane objects, I am grateful for the many reminders I have of Sherry: her beloved objects from Wild Blue, the ceramics, the pieces on the wall, (especially Candace’s and Armando’s paintings), her coffee table, some jewelry, her favorite shirts.  Her music, even though as I would tell her, it can be forlorn and depressing. I also have things she prized even more:  her mother’s photos, Rosie’s ashes, and pictures of us together. But probably the best reminders I have are the stories Sherry’s friends share with me, and the stories my friends let me share with them. 

One of these special times of sharing took place last month. Linda, a friend of Sherry’s from Junior High and High School, along with her sister and niece, visited me to share stories, look at old photos, and see how Sherry had furnished our home with the unique items from Wild Blue.  We had a special time together.  That night, I joined Mary Ann at the Barclay Theatre and saw Joni Mitchell’s music performed in the Fiddle and the Drum.  It was the end to a wonderful day which Sherry seemed to spend with me.

On Sunday night I put Sherry’s favorite soft green blanket, her Spiderman pillow and my beautiful prayer shawl from church on the couch.  The brown leather goes beautifully with the Mojito colored walls.  Sherry loved leather couches.

(33-34) The woman, realizing what had happened to her, approached in fear and trembling. She fell down before Jesus and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be cured of your affliction.”

This passage from Mark brings us two stories of healing.  These are miraculous events, and the stories leave us with more questions than answers. 

I appreciate the miraculous nature of the stories but I am left to wonder, what kind of power did Jesus possess, that a mere touch of his garment would cure a woman who had been seriously ill for twelve years?  An illness, no less, which would keep her from the temple?  The faith of Jairus, his daughter, and the woman who was seriously ill demonstrated faith in the power of Jesus’ touch to physically heal them.  Their faith was in contrast to the lack of faith that the officials and surrounding crowds had. 

Several years ago, I learned about a woman and her husband who had a malignant, inoperable brain tumor.   The woman was a faithful Christian woman, who looked to Jesus for a healing for her husband’s tumor.  Several months went by, and weekly she wrote about her husband and herself, and her surety that her husband would be healed.  The man was also a Christian, but was chained to his many theological and Biblical tomes, and seemed to have difficulty experiencing God in his day to day life.  Toward the end of his life, as his sharp mind became fogged by drugs and pain, he began to know Jesus as healer.  His faith sustained him in his final days.  The sad irony is that his wife had expected a cure, a healing that would halt his death.  She seemed to have a hard time seeing that her husband had been healed, but not in the way she had envisioned.

So my first question from this passage is, “What can our faith cure us of?”   What do we want Jesus to cure for us?  Our health? Our relationships? The type of work we do? Are we able to see where our faith in Jesus is leading us? Can we be open to the opportunities we are provided?

My second question is, “What can our faith do for the world?” If we believe that God’s power, as evidenced through God’s Son Jesus, is infinite, then how can we share that power with others?  Are we willing to do that?  Or will we be more like the officials who ridicule the faithful? 

This Lenten season, may you make time to see the possibilities your faith has for you, your loved ones, your church, and for the world.

(This was previously posted on the Caring Bridge site, Friday, October 30, 2009 6:51 PM, PDT.  On Feb. 2, 2011, I returned home and Sherry’s neon fish illuminated the back deck more brightly. The spotlight no longer was on. Her art will continue to keep our surroundings warmly lit.)

I had some energy late this afternoon and decided to finish adding leaves that have been falling off the oak tree for months to the compost bins I have in the back yard.  The work in the garden always feels good, but I hate the fact that the light is getting lower in the horizon at this time of year.  The tomato plants that were so prodigious in the summer (despite Stoli eating a third of them) are now nothing more than brown withered vines.  The bell peppers and the chilis are still on their plants.  I’ve not felt like cooking with them or making my usual salsas. 

Sherry really does not like when the time changes either.  She also does not like crows, and their angry squaking.  We had tons of crows when we lived in a back house high up in Altadena.  But this morning, some interloping crows were duking it out with about 3 dozen parrots for the same neighbor’s tree. The squaking was loud and boisterous on both sides and woke me up.  

Sherry  is not able to notice these changes in season or surroundings.  I try to share a few things with her, but I don’t think any of that is important to her at this point.  Occasionally she will try to tell me something. When I ask her if it’s important, she usually nods no.

When I finished up with the compost bins, I looked up and saw a spotlight on our garage with it’s light on, in full force, aimed at the patio.  I was really surprised.  I had tried to get this light to work nearly 7 years ago when we first moved here.  Sherry insists for security that we keep a porch light on all night, front and back, and I agreed to her request.  But the spot light, it was just part of the jumbled array of lights that don’t work in any kind of coordinated fashion on our 1920′s garage, and I have always been meaning to have an electrician come out and get the lights to work correctly and with switches rather than strings, including this spot. 

So then I figured, well Sergia must have done it!  She can fix an amazing amount of things, and as often as not, fixes or organizes things whether I ask her to or not, and this usually works out.  And she had told me she was cleaning out under the sink, as she is cleaning the whole house for me, as she “knows me”.  So there was my answer to the mysterious working spotlight:  Sergia.

But no.  I asked Sergia, and she knew nothing about it.  She had never seen it work either, in her six years of caring for Sherry.  I flipped on and off all the kitchen switches, thinking maybe I had missed some combination that would make this spotlight work.  No- the spotlight has come through some miracle or mystery. I don’t know how long it will stay on.  Perhaps through this weekend, as Halloween and Dia de los Muerto and All Saint’s Day are celebrated.   

I just know, that for Sergia and I, the mystery of the spotlight on the garage is just part of the mystery and miracle of the time we are experiencing now with Sherry.  Thanks to all of you for being present with us during this time.